Three Guns
by armsoftheocean
Summary: The two times Mickey Milkovich was shot (and the one time he wasn't). / Use of strong language, mild sexual content.


**AN: Use of homophobic language/slurs, internalized homophobia - basically all the canonical language and stuff they use in the show so nothing new in that respect. **

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><p><em>my heart sinks as i jump up<em>  
><em>your hand grips hand as my eyes shut<em>

_i._

Life had a tendency to fuck Mickey Milkovich over. Mickey had learned to accept the fact that life and all the bullshit, fairytale wonders it seemed to offer from their shitty television screen just weren't meant for white trash thugs from the South Side of Chicago. He'd learned to accept the fact that sometimes, people were just dealt a shitty hand in life and they'd have to learn to cope.

So everyday Mickey Milkovich deals with his life head on, hoping to make the best of the situation. Sure, he could do without being sent to juvie for dealing, except it was really the only surefire way to make money in the South Side, considering the addicts inhabiting the South Side were more abundant than actual jobs. But hey, life's shit and nothing would ever really change, so he finds that it's best to take it as it comes.

He thinks shit's bad when Terry gets into another one of his drunken rages and beats a six year old Mickey who was only trying to protect Mandy. He thinks shit's bad when his mother — the only stable and constant force in their lives — dies when he's ten years old with a dirty needle still stuck in her arm, and her dark brown hair stringy and matted around her face. Being high and coked out of her mind was the only way she could deal with Terry's drunken rampages.

He thinks shit's bad when he finds Mandy thirteen and huddled in the corner of her bedroom with her barely-there clothes torn and thick black eyeliner streaking its way down her pale and bruised face, blood staining her thighs, whispering, "he thought I was Mom," over and over. The only thing Mickey can do is suppress the rage that explodes like a wildfire in his chest, and holds Mandy while she cries into his chest. He knows that no matter what he does, Terry will always terrorize them, and the best thing he can do is protect Mandy and let the anger simmer and burn inside his chest.

Mickey pushes down the anger and hatred and wipes away the burning tears in his eyes because the Milkoviches _don't_ fucking cry like pussies and little girls. He learned that when he was five years old and Terry caught Mickey crying when Iggy snapped his action figure in half.

"Man the fuck up, you faggot," his father had hissed right before throwing a beer bottle at his head.

He accepts the fact that sometimes, life is going to be shitty no matter how hard you try breaking the endless cycle of failure and torment.

Shit happens, life goes on. It's just best to let the wave drown you than try fighting against it. It was a futile fight. Hopeless.

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><p>It's not really a surprise to him that when he's thirteen and getting a hummer from Angie Zago and his dick can't get up, that his brain clicks and goes <em>well shit, I'm gay. <em>Because it's only fitting for a dealer in the South Side with a homophobic and Neo-Nazi father to be gay. When Mickey steps back from the situation and looks at it objectively, he lets out a humourless laugh, because _of course _there's something else to make his entire life even more shitty. He can appreciate the irony in the situation.

Instead, he pretends he never came to that realisation. He can be normal, he can be straight. It would just take a little practise, that's all.

Every time he helps his brothers and cousins beat up random fuckers for _looking _or _acting '_too gay,' the sour taste of bile stains his mouth. Like his anger, he ignores it and pushes it down; instead he punches and kicks harder, hoping that this would stomp the gay out of him too — he could be normal and wouldn't be living with the imminent threat of death, courtesy of Terry, looming over his head.

All it seems to do is fuel his self-hatred and anger at the world.

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><p>When Mickey Milkovich meets Ian Gallagher, he thinks maybe, things could be looking up. Of course, his first thoughts regarding Ian Gallagher involved beating his skull in with a baseball bat for hurting Mandy. He couldn't protect Mandy against their deadbeat dad, but he sure as hell would protect her from any other asshole who even looked at her wrong.<p>

She comes to him a couple days later and begs him to stop his manhunt for the kid. He'd raised his dark brows at Mandy's insistence to leave the kid alone, saying, "thought he tried forcing himself on you."

"I… well that wasn't true. Actually he uh, did the opposite," she says, twirling a piece of bright pink hair around her finger.

"Why the fuck did you say he tried to rape you then?" he barks back, eyebrows drawing together in confusion.

Mandy lets out a short laugh, before looking down. "He didn't _want _to have sex with me… I thought this would teach him a lesson?" A guilty smiles blooms on his sister's face.

Mickey groans, rolling his eyes. "Jesus, Mandy! We wasted a fuckin' week hunting him down. Iggy was supposed to go on a run!"

"I'm sorry! I was hurt, okay? No guy has ever said no to me before, and Ian was… well he's _nice_," she explains; as if the word _nice _would make up for the fact Mickey and his brothers had wasted a week on some ginger idiot when it could have been spent doing something productive — like pushing drugs and breaking kneecaps.

"So why you callin' it off now?" Mickey grumbles, eyeing his sister.

Mandy lets out a huff of air, and stared at the ceiling, before taking a deep breath. "You can't say _anything _okay? Don't tell Iggy or Tony or Joey, and _especially _not Dad," she warned, before looking Mickey in the eye. "He's gay. That's why. That's why he wouldn't fuck me when I grabbed his crotch."

Mickey feels his heart race when the word_ gay _came out of Mandy's mouth; his mind jumping into overdrive.

"Gay, huh?" Mickey asks slowly, attempting to calm his racing heartbeat and schooling his expression into one of nonchalance, before Mandy could notice anything.

Mandy nods before adding warningly, "and I don't want you going fag bashing — he's my boyfriend now."

Mickey lets out a quick laugh, eyeing Mandy with a sense of exasperation, "Mandy do you know what bein' a fag means? That means he likes dick, not your used up pussy."

Mandy scowls, shoving Mickey slightly. "I know, asshole. I'm his beard!"

"Jesus, didn't realise I stepped onto the set of fuckin' Maury," he mutters.

"So you're not gonna kill him?" Mandy asks, her face brightening. "You know how fucked up this place is for anyone like Ian."

"I— what? No I'm not gonna fuckin' kill that fag; not worth my time," he replies.

"What about Joey an-" Mandy begins, but Mickey cuts her off. "I'll call them off, don't worry. Go back to your fairy boyfriend," he says, before stalking out of the house.

He needs a smoke. Or ten.

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><p>Mickey finds himself standing on the street corner by the Kash and Grab a lot more now, ever since he discovered Gallaghar was gay. Mandy's words still echoed in his head, and the magnetic pull he felt towards the redhead ever since then was fucking disgusting. He hated himself for being so easily controlled by his dick, of all things. He wasn't as thickheaded as his brothers or dad to think that people chose to be gay, but it didn't mean he was okay with it or accepted it, especially about himself.<p>

He knows that towelhead and Gallagher are fucking; you'd have to be a fucking idiot to not notice the two of them putting up the _Back in 15 minutes _sign every single time his wife left, and how they'd look flushed and rumpled afterwards.

Mickey snorts at the fact that towelhead can only last fifteen minutes.

He smokes a pack of cheap cigarettes while waiting for towelhead's wife to leave, the nicotine in his blood and the smell of smoke calming his nerves. Watching her leave the store with her two kids, he drops the remainder of his cigarette on the ground and crushes it underneath the heel of his boot, before striding across the street and pushing the door open. He walks past the check-out counter, spotting Kash staring at him with resignation, and shoots him a smirk, before walking straight to the fridges. His eyes quickly flit across the small store, looking for the splash of bright red hair. His hands grab at random things, before he walks up to the counter and slowly smiles at Kash as he places his items into the cardboard box.

A sense of disappointment fills him when he doesn't see the pale redhead and he doesn't really have a reason to stick around, so he leaves. He hates himself for even wanting to catch a glimpse of him, but there was something eerily fascinating about the pale, pale skin and the bright red hair.

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><p>When Mickey's woken up by a strangely familiar voice and the feel of cold metal pressing into his back, he turns around.<p>

His eyes adjust to the bright sunlight seeping through his curtains, before he squints and sees an angry looking redhead wielding a goddamn tire iron in his hands. "I want the gun back, Mickey."

There was something about the determined look in Gallagher's eyes, paired with the angry tone in his voice that shot straight to his dick.

"The _gun_!"

Mickey rubs the sleep out of his eyes and acquiesces, making a show of moving towards his side table, before spinning around quickly and pushing Gallagher up against the wall.

As fucking if he'd give the gun back; it'd be an easy couple hundred to pawn off and towelhead sure as fuck didn't have the balls to actually fire it.

He didn't really expect Gallagher to fight back — sure, he heard him yammering on about ROTC with Mandy but didn't seem like the type to get into fights, which Mickey'd been doing on a daily basis ever since he could hold a baseball bat.

He can feel Gallagher's sharp punches landing in his stomach; quick, clean, precise. But Mickey fights dirty and fast; it's chaotic like his nature.

He flips the redhead over so he's sitting on his chest, the warmth of his body seeping through his sweatpants, and lands in a couple punches to his face. Gallagher pushes him off, and uses Mickey's own momentum against him to flip him over and off the bed. Pain shoots through his spine but he ignores it and picks himself up, calculating the best way to knock the idiot out.

The moment Mickey hesitates, Gallagher's on him and throwing him back into the wall. Mickey lets out another grunt and a string of expletives. He takes in a deep breath and steels himself before pushing forward and getting Gallagher on the bed, ready to bash his skull in with the tire iron.

Mickey's panting heavily and his knees are spread apart, his arm arched back with the tire iron raised. He's getting ready to swing down until he sees the look of shock in Gallagher's green eyes.

That's when he notices the straining hard on in his pants that's right in fucking Gallagher's line of sight. _Shit. _

Mickey's arm freezes in mid-air, his heart hammering loudly in his chest. His stomach is twisted up in knots and he doesn't know if he's angry or horny, but all he can feel as the warmth of the redhead's writhing body underneath him. The heady scent of citrus and smoke clouds his head and before he knows it, there's an electric current running through the air and he's taken his tank top off and helping Gallagher rip off his own clothes.

He knows it's incredibly fucking stupid and risky to be getting involved with someone, even casually, from the South Side who _knows _him and knows his family. He'd limited himself to riding the L for an hour until he'd find himself in a seedier part of town and getting fucked in dark alleys by faceless strangers. But there was something about those green fucking eyes that seemed to call to him like a goddamn Siren.

For the first time in his life, Mickey threw reason, logic and everything else he needed to survive in this shit hole out the window and just let himself _be._

Simply put, it was the best fuck in his entire life. Everything passes in a quick blur of ecstasy, pain and pleasure and it takes all of Mickey's self control to _not _let out all the moans that are building in his chest as Gallagher slams in and out of him, brushing up against his prostrate every time in an achingly wonderful way. Minutes later, after suppressing all the moans and sighs that threaten to spill from his lips, Mickey can't help himself when he lets out a blissful moan when he climaxes, feeling the orgasm in every goddamn nerve ending and muscle in his body. He feels sated and full and it's probably the best fucking orgasm in his life.

If Mickey believed in a God, he'd say that this — having their sweat mingle, with a freckled, warm chest pressed up against his spine and the feel of Gallagher's teeth biting down on the back of his neck — was heaven.

He'd be damned if he'd let something so mindblowingly amazing slip out of his grasp.

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><p>Mickey's kind of pissed when he sees the redhead banging at his door, worried that his dad might suspect something. He almost shuts the door in his face until he sees how lost and frightened he looks.<p>

"I need to see you," he says, desperation seeping into his voice.

"Not a good time," Mickey replies as he hears one of his brothers yelling about their pull-up bar.

"I-I-I don't know where else to go," he stammers out, his voice breaking. Mickey can feel himself lowering his defences, _wanting_ to help him.

"I thought you were working today," Mickey says, his voice taking a softer tone. He can hear the gentleness in his ears and he ignores the warning in his brain telling him to get the fuck out and back away, because nothing good could come of this.

"Linda's gonna have my ass. I'm supposed to be there now," Gallagher replies shakily.

Mickey knows shit's bad if Gallagher's this shaken up; shaken up enough to almost miss a shift at work when his family desperately needs the money. He finds himself agreeing to meet him at the store, and goes back inside his house, ignoring Mandy when she asks him who it was. _Just your fake boyfriend who I've been fucking behind your back. _

When Mickey gets to the store, he lets Gallagher scoot up against his side and rest his head on Mickey's shoulder. He listens to him talk for ages about his mother and how she fucked them over. If it was anyone else, he would have probably have told them to shut the fuck up three seconds in, but instead he just wraps his arm around the freckled boy and — though he'd deny it to his deathbed — Mickey Milkovich fucking _comforts _someone.

He doesn't know how they go from that to fucking, but he's pressed up against the metal shelf, letting Gallagher dictate the pace at which they go. He's moving his length out of Mickey's ass at a slow, steady rhythm, his freckled chin resting on Mickey's shoulder and pressing soft kisses against the pale expanse of skin. Mickey lets him get away with that sort of affection because he knows Gallagher needs closeness right now; that he needs to be able to connect. Even if Mickey can't give him the emotional anchor he needs, he can do the physical aspect.

When his long fingers wrap around his tattooed knuckles, a strange ache settles in Mickey's chest and it pushes down on his chest 'till he feels like he's choking on emotions he didn't think he was capable of having.

That's when he realises it would be so, _so _easy to fall for Ian Gallagher.

When Kash finds them, the almost sweet moment is broken and Mickey's running again. That's what he does best.

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><p>He goes back that night to make sure the fuckhead keeps his mouth shut; he didn't need shit getting back to his dad about how his son took it up the ass.<p>

"Fuckin' right you keep your mouth shut. You better keep it shut," he says, picking up a Snickers bar. "You hear me?"

"Put the candy back, Mickey."

Mickey ignores him and instead opens up the wrapper, biting off a piece of the chocolate. He doesn't know what drives him to taunt Kash, but he does. He wants the fucker to know that _he _won, that Gallagher chose _him. _Mickey likes knowing that; no one's ever really chosen him or picked him.

He wants to assert his claim. He wants the asshole to know that Gallagher is _his_; that Gallagher wants Mickey, not some middle-aged asshole who was married with fucking kids. He picks his word carefully, wanting to cause the most damage, "That's sweet. I like 'em sweet."

Mickey can see the anger simmering in Kash's dark eyes, and he feels a sick sense of pleasure.

"But then uh, so do you, huh?" he adds with a small smirk and turns around.

"Put it back. Now."

Mickey smiles slightly at how palpable the anger and hatred in Kash's voice is.

And then he hears the sound of two gun shots, followed by a third that rips through his leg.

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><p>The second the bullet pierces through the layer of skin and muscle and Mickey can feel his heart beating so fucking fast it feels like it'll jump out of his goddamn chest.<p>

Suddenly, Gallagher's on him and putting pressure on the wound with one hand and cradling his head with the other. There's a steady stream of smooth words slipping from Gallagher's mouth and Mickey has no idea what the hell he's saying because his body's going into shock, but the sound comforts him. He can feel himself getting lightheaded but the redhead is so goddamn persistent and demanding that he stay awake; _don't you fucking dare pass out, Mick. _

Mickey doesn't want him to worry about him, so he listens to Gallagher's soothing words and loses himself in his bright green eyes that have gotten a bit misty, and tries his damn fucking best to stay awake until the ambulance come.

Mickey's not really worth worrying over anyways.

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><p><strong>AN: Planned on posting this as a one-shot but it has better flow if I made it a three-shot. Will hopefully be able to post the next two parts within the week :) Reviews are much appreciated!<strong>

***Lyrics in beginning are from Tessellate by Alt-J**


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